


Dead and Breakfast

by Alona



Category: RED (Movies)
Genre: Assassination, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alona/pseuds/Alona
Summary: Two assassins, one target, and a lake.





	Dead and Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/gifts).



Love's Landing was a group of semi-detached resort cabins ranged by the shore of a picturesque lake. The cabins had lacy porches and firepits out front right out of a children's book illustration. Their windows had dark red wooden shutters with cut-outs in the shapes of stylized hearts. That was more of a horror movie touch, especially in the bloody light of late afternoon. The strings of colored lights hung up around the reception desk were anyone's guess, as far as aesthetic intent went. 

"And, just checking, that's a suite for one?" asked the owner of Love's Landing. She was short and barefoot and wrapped in a blanket-sized handwoven shawl. 

"That's right," said Han. 

"Oh," said the owner. Her face fell, then instantly perked up. "Are you sure?"

Love's Landing, unsurprisingly, catered to couples, advertising such purportedly relaxing activities as couples kayaking, couples trail riding (at the stable down the road), and a couples spa experience. Love's Landing was also next door to a heavily guarded private estate, which, this weekend, was hosting an important personage whom Han's current employers wanted permanently removed. Coming to Love's Landing alone was conspicuous, of course, but Han figured it was no more conspicuous in these parts than the cut of his suit or really anything else about him. He'd left his team behind in Albany, to keep an eye on his new plane. 

With a dreamy sigh, the owner said, "Maybe you'll hit it off with the lady who just checked into the suite next to yours. On her own, too. Isn't that a coincidence? A very sweet lady. Maybe too old for you…" The woman's smile faltered as she peered speculatively at Han. 

"Anything can happen," said Han, flatly. 

"Well, I hope you're ready to bundle up for the cold snap we're getting tonight! My name's Joyce, remember, just come on up and find me if you need anything at all. Oh, would you like a paddle? For the kayaks." 

Han considered the stack of pink plastic paddles in one corner of the office. 

"Twenty dollar deposit!" Joyce sang. 

"Maybe later." 

Han took his key, went out to his car, and drove down the precipitously terraced resort grounds until he found his cabin. The suites were arranged in pairs: two suites to a cabin, sharing a porch with a low divider down the middle. There was the advertised firepit, just in front of the building, and there were the chairs on the porch, with tree stump tables between them. Another car was already parked in front of the other half of the cabin: a weathered dark green pick-up truck. Joyce's sweet old lady, evidently. 

Inside, the suite was just as oddly decorated as everything else, with giant pillows and tiny ornamental pillows and a bedspread embroidered with detailed depictions of Yggdrasil the World Tree. Han checked for bugs and booby-traps and came up empty. There was a kitchen in the suite, where he stowed the food he'd brought to tide him over in this wasteland (he'd passed a combination pizzeria and convenience store about a mile back, and that was the high point of the local options), and several useful cupboards throughout the apartment, where he stowed a portion of his mobile armory. Looking further, there was a shared backyard to the building with a hot tub in it. Maybe he'd even have time to give it a try, though having to share with the old lady next door didn't seem promising at all.

After checking the view from the backyard – mostly of the lake, which it was already almost too dark to see – Han went back inside to wait. When all was dark and still, he left to spy out the terrain. Remembering Joyce's words about the cold, he took his insulated gloves. 

 

The firepit in front of Han's cabin was smoldering when he returned several hours later. The smoke had the faintest scent of burning cloth. It was anomalous enough that Han prodded the ashes with the toe of his shoe, but whatever the sweet old lady had been burning in the middle of an icy cold night, she'd done it too well to leave anything recognizable. 

"Yeah, that's not going to be a problem," Han said fatalistically, taking another look at the battered truck.

All the same, he went inside to record his observations. The estate relied a great deal on landscaping: thick trees screening it from the road and blocking its perimeter, an approach designed to hide the maximum of guards behind convenient bushes and hillocks. All those things, the shielding trees and the general aura of menace in particular, would be easy to turn against The Target's protectors. Having satisfied himself of all this and reviewed a set of pilfered architectural drawings, Han slept for a few hours. Waking refreshed around dawn, he went out onto the front porch. It was, as advertised, extremely cold. Steamy breath rose from the person occupying a chair on the other half of the porch. 

The person was wrapped in a fleecy white blanket and reading what appeared to be a gardening magazine. An open thermos flask, also steaming, stood on the kitschy tree stump table at her elbow. Her blond head lifted at the sound of Han coming out onto the porch. 

"Can I offer you a cup of tea, neighbor?" she asked. 

"Victoria Winslow," said Han. It would be her. 

She tossed aside her magazine and stood, leaving the blanket behind as she came over to the porch divider. "Han Cho Bai, as I live and breathe!" She smiled benignantly. "Han, darling, it's perfectly lovely to run into you. Keeping well, I see," she added with an appreciative look. She herself was currently making a plaid dress and knit leggings look runway ready, besides blending in with her surroundings. 

" _You're_ the sweet old lady?" 

"Now, now," said Victoria. There was nothing playful about her expression. "None of that. I could become seriously annoyed if you keep calling me _old_." 

Han considered and instantly rejected the possibility of repeating Joyce's words. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked instead. "And whose clothes did you burn last night?"

"Mine, mostly, and some belonging to people who won't be needing them anymore. More than that… A lady never tells," she finished, businesslike expression giving way to a coy smile. "I had to rush over from my last job to make my schedule, and there were a few loose ends to tie up." 

" _Last_ job… Does everyone want that fucker in the big house dead?"

Victoria's smile widened. "You _are_ quick. That's what I like about you. No, I don't suppose anyone would knowingly double up with two such reliable experts as ourselves." 

They exchanged details about their employers, just to be sure. And, after all, it was hardly surprising that two different groups would take aim at The Target on a weekend when he was as vulnerable as he was likely to be for some time. 

"Now, Han, I know you don't like to admit it, but deep down you're a real gentleman. I'm sure you wouldn't like to stand in my way on a small matter like this…" She left the question dangling. 

Han had been favorably impressed by Victoria during their previous encounter. He respected her accomplishments and her style, and the way she was all ice under that strange fake-real sweetness. The fact that she was blandly but unmistakably attracted to him did not hurt. But he could tell as easily as the next sucker when someone was trying to push him around, sweetly or not. 

He flashed her a short, sharp grin. "Loser buys the winner dinner." 

"So that's how you want to play it?" Victoria's spirits were not dampened in the least. "As it happens, I've had business in these parts before. There's a smashing Cajun place in a town about four miles from here. You wouldn't think so, would you, but the cheesy grits are to die for."

"May the best man win," said Han. 

Victoria winked at him before collecting her things and disappearing into her suite. 

Han felt a thrill of anticipation. Why not a contest, after all? He could trust Victoria to be enough of a professional not to get in his way. He might even have fun. 

 

"Just tell me where he is, and you can die quickly." 

The guard shook his head firmly. Han shrugged and shot him once in the chest. The guard toppled over. Han could tell which ones weren't going to crack whatever you did, and dead was dead. It didn't make any difference what threats you'd made. 

He'd insinuated himself into the estate, and even onto the floor where The Target was meant to be staying, with a special agent ruse. It always gave him a grim kind of pleasure to do that: as if any real government agent had ever dressed as well as Han did. In the event, The Target had recently vacated the rooms; something must have spooked him or his surprisingly competent security personnel. Han's current body count for the job stood at all the guards on the second floor. It was time to move on. 

He started down the grand central stairway to the mezzanine level. There were enormous windows running down the front of the house, which was why Han had a perfect view of what was happening out on the sloping drive. 

What was happening was this: a rider on a white horse was coming up the drive at a gallop. She flashed in and out among the trees that were both decorative and protective. She had a gun in each hand and appeared to be keeping her seat through pure force of will. Deftly, she mowed down security personnel as they appeared out of the nooks and crannies of the landscape – all those guards Han had breezily avoided, Victoria was dropping without turning a hair. Of course.

Coming up on the house itself, Victoria discarded her guns and drew her mount to a stop. She hefted a bazooka that had been strapped to her back and fired at the pillars holding up the house's oversized portico. Victoria watched calmly as the portico snapped hard by the wall and fell to form a gently sloping ramp leading up to the mezzanine window. Victoria lobbed something in a gentle arc at the window, which shattered comprehensively. 

When the calamity of glass had stopped, Victoria calmly rode up the slope of the broken portico and into the mezzanine. 

Han, who had paused on the steps to give due honor to this performance, went the rest of the way down and arrived on the mezzanine landing just as Victoria was dismounting. She wore tall boots, dark jeans, and a leather jacket splattered up one sleeve with blood. There was another fleck of blood on her cheek. Han searched briefly for an appropriate comparison, but really, Victoria looked exactly what she was: an assassin of somewhat advanced years who was undeniably at the top of her game. 

"You know you don't get extra points for style?" he called as he passed her. 

"Are you absolutely sure about that?" she asked. "Besides, I do so enjoy riding." She was petting the horse's nose when Han glanced back, cooing softly as she tied a nosebag onto it. 

She caught up to him as he was taking care of another pair of guards, whose careful position in front of a set of double doors strongly suggested Han would find his goal inside. 

He burst in with Victoria at his heels. 

The front room was empty. 

They checked the bathroom, and the bedroom. Those were empty, too. 

"So… where is he, do you think?" asked Victoria, peering over Han's shoulder into the entirely demolished and likewise empty kitchenette. 

"Not here," said Han. 

"That's not very helpful." Victoria was stalking around the main room, which showed definite signs of recent occupation. From what Han knew of The Target's tastes and habits, he had almost certainly done the occupying. 

Victoria wrinkled her nose slightly as she rummaged among a pile of drug paraphernalia and obviously pornographic DVDs. She came up with a glossy brochure printed in bright colors. "Diamond Jane's Scenic Lake Cruises," she read. "Dinner and Music aboard the _Fascination of the Adirondacks_." She held out the brochure to Han. 

He unfolded it and found a receipt, which he scrutinized. "Tickets for tonight. …341 of them."

"Bought out the whole ship, are we thinking?"

Han groaned. "He won't be coming back here. Not after all this noise." 

"No, indeed," said Victoria briskly. 

"But a ship in the middle of the lake, at night… I have an idea." 

"That's wonderful. Just let me nip over and bring Queen Lucy back to the stables." 

"I still can't believe you rode a horse through the window," said Han.

"And you watched every second of it."

"I missed some of the beginning, actually." 

"That's too bad," said Victoria. "I'll have to fill you in later." 

 

An icy wind ruffled up the black water into waves. On the farther shore a few lights shone. The nearer shore was a black mass of mountains. 

"You're splashing me."

"You're splashing yourself. You might have worn something other than that suit." 

"I like my suit," Han said peevishly at the back of Victoria's head. 

"It's a beautiful suit," she said, looking back over her shoulder to smile at him. "Your tailor must be a very happy man." 

"He's a very rich man."

"And professionally fulfilled, I'll wager."

Naturally Love's Landing only had two-person kayaks. 

Joyce the owner had been positively radiant when they'd come in together to ask for paddles. She'd even let them have both with a single twenty-dollar deposit. 

"You won't go out after dark, will you?" she'd asked. "People do such stupid things." 

"You can count on us not to do anything stupid," Victoria had said. 

Joyce had giggled at that. 

And here they were, paddling in the dark towards the _Fascination of the Adirondacks_. It was a clear but almost moonless night, perfect for stealth but less suited for kayaking. 

"It's really very peaceful out here, isn't it?" Victoria said, boldly stroking through the dark water. "We could be in the middle of the ocean."

"Whatever," muttered Han. "This doesn't mean we're working together." 

"Oh, I know, but we do make an excellent team. It's really too bad that putting us together would be like overkill." 

"No such thing as overkill."

"Quite right." After a serious and reflective pause during which the swell from a passing motorboat nearly overturned the kayak (how drunk did you have to _be_? Han wondered, as staggeringly unmelodious singing wafted over to them on the breeze), Victoria went on. "I was watching your performance from the trees earlier. Very tidy. I didn't think you went in for that sort of subtlety, as a rule." 

"You can't let yourself get stale." 

"Oh, very true. Just what I always say myself. Han, did you see in the office, there were some lovely souvenirs for sale. Those locally forged steak knives! I'm thinking of getting a set for Sarah. Perhaps you could get Francis something?"

"I'm not getting Moses anything but in the ground." 

"A joint gift, then," Victoria said calmly. "Look, I know these long, simmering grudges feel good at the time, but most of them just weigh you down. Don't you think it's time to let it go?"

Han eloquently said nothing at all. 

"In my opinion, if you'd really meant to kill Francis, you would have done it already."

"I sent him a poisoned book."

"Yes, you did. An illustrated history of contract killing. Sarah's enjoying it. I think it adds to the appeal that she has to wear gloves and a breathing mask to read it while she works out how to decontaminate it. You got it for her, really, didn't you? Just missed her birthday by a week."

Han maintained a dignified silence in the face of this attack. Fortunately, they had just come around a headland and into sight of the _Fascination_. It was as large and brightly lit a target as anyone could have asked for. 

They brought the kayak level with its hull, paddling in perfect silent unison. 

"I'll let you do the honors," Victoria said, and she competently held the kayak level while Han got a grappling hook up over the side of the ship. In moments he had swarmed up onto the deck and was lowering a hand to help Victoria over the railing. She gave him a knowing smile – the one that said, I knew you were a gentleman after all – and ostentatiously leaned her whole weight on his arm, letting him lift her the rest of the way onto the deck. 

They had fetched up on a narrow passage beside the main cabin, a likely spot for boarders as there were no windows looking onto it. The deck under their feet pulsed with a frantic bassline. 

"Let's get to work," said Han. 

 

Approximately five moderately action-filled minutes later, the musicians and shipboard staff were on their way to shore in a life raft, about a dozen guards were dead, and Han and Victoria were standing below decks in front of a door that had been welded shut from the inside. The compartment on the other side contained The Target and at least three more guards. 

"They're putting up a better show than I expected," said Victoria. "I must find out who does his security. I've nearly worked up a sweat."

"I have something for the door," said Han, displaying the contents of a waterproof pouch that had until moments ago been strapped to his torso under his jacket. 

Victoria's eyes glowed. "That's a _lot_ of plastic explosive," she said appreciatively. "And the engine room is just down the passage." 

Their eyes met. 

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Han.

"There's another way out of that compartment," said Victoria. 

"This boat is a loose end."

"And criminally ugly." 

Han nodded. They set the charges, carefully explaining their actions as they did so. Leaving the timer beeping insistently, they strolled back up, passing through the main cabin. The place had seen better days. They stepped over the bodies, pushed aside the remnants of someone's impromptu barricade, and skirted a vast spill of beer on their way out into the open. 

A trapdoor towards the stern flew open. Three men climbed out. They pulled up a fourth, rather twitchy man: The Target. It was the first glimpse Victoria and Han had had of him all day. There was a faint stream of chatter coming from him: curses and prayers and more curses. 

All four men darted for the shelter of a tall vent. The guard holding the rear took Han's bullet to the head and went sprawling before he could reach cover. The Target tripped trying to skitter out of the way of the falling body. Muffled curses came from the two surviving guards, whose attempts at return fire went wide. 

"They even had a plan once they got up on deck!" said Victoria, dodging the first of the bullets to come close to its mark. "Right for that vent – cute!" 

"Get down to the boat," said Han. "I'll take care of this." 

"Forty-five seconds," said Victoria, tapping her wristwatch meaningfully before ducking over the side where their grappling hook was still attached. She had followed orders a little too easily. Han was momentarily suspicious that she'd mistimed the explosion to catch him, but dismissed the possibility. If Victoria Winslow wanted to kill him, she'd do it to his face. 

Forty-five seconds didn't leave time for wondering, or for finesse. Han rolled to avoid the two guards' fire as they covered The Target's path to the side. He ended in a crouch, and two well-placed bullets took care of the guards. Meanwhile, though, The Target had gone over. 

A long shriek and the distinct sound of a belly flop followed. 

Han clicked his tongue in disgust before shrugging off his jacket and executing a perfect dive off the side of the ship. 

He was ten feet underwater when the ship went up. 

The bulk of the explosion was above the water, but some of the shockwave carried. By the glare of the burning hulk, Han had no trouble spotting the dark shape of The Target floundering above him. He kicked up towards him. He'd tossed aside his gun before going into the water, but killing a stunned man dunked unprepared into chilly water was child's play. Han had his hands on the man's shoulders to push him under – when a dark hole bloomed in the center of The Target's forehead. 

Han let the corpse fall and swam towards the waiting kayak. Victoria beamed as she helped him in. 

Han's teeth were chattering. "He was _mine_ ," he said. 

"Dinner," said Victoria primly. 

They rowed away from the flaming, slowly sinking wreck. By the time anyone came out to investigate, Victoria and Han were out of sight. 

 

"That was a beautiful dive. Swim team?"

"At the Academy." 

"Thought so. Perfect ten," Victoria added, patting Han's bare shoulder familiarly. 

She'd coaxed him into the backyard hot tub on the grounds that he needed warming up and that, well, the hot tub was _there_ , wasn't it, so why let it go to waste? In perfect fairness, Han hadn't taken much coaxing. After a quarter of an hour he was finally starting to feel warm again. 

"You know it doesn't count, right?" he said. "I would have had him in another minute." 

"Yes, but you didn't." Victoria leaned back against the hot tub seat. It was not really surprising that she was in such excellent shape for her age, but it was nonetheless impressive. Clearly she knew it, too: her bathing suit was classy but left very little to the imagination. "Anyway, it was definitely a cooperative effort in the end. It's not a question of getting paid, I'm sure. You must be at least as good as I am at negotiating your contracts." 

"I get paid in full, as long as the target is dead by the agreed on date," Han said by way of agreement. "There was one who keeled over from the cyanide his mistress had mixed into his cocaine before I could stab him… I learned, then." 

"The ambassador?" said Victoria with interest. "The way I always heard that one, you killed him with your brain. Did your reputation a world of good – world's best contract killer." 

Han shrugged; managing your public image was just as important for an assassin as it was in any other line of work, and he deserved the title as much as anyone did. "You won't tell," he said confidently. 

"No, certainly not. It would put a damper on the happy ending, for one thing: both of us getting paid, that odious man dead. Everything just so – except that you owe me dinner." 

"I'll be happy to take a friend out to dinner, for any reason at all." Han was sticking to his point less because he cared – at the moment, taking Victoria out to dinner was a good enough prospect that he didn't really care which of them paid – and more because it seemed to amuse Victoria. 

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever makes you happy. In fact, I was just thinking – I would settle for you cooking me breakfast." 

"Oh, really."

"Yes. You can cook, can't you?"

"I'll show you cooking," Han said. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Victoria answered, smirking faintly. "Or isn't this the part where we fuck each other senseless?"

Emphatically, it was that part. 

 

Han stayed outside leaning disdainfully against his car while Victoria purchased whatever knickknacks she'd had her eye on for Sarah. He could feel Joyce the owner's radiant approval from where he was, even before she leaned out the little window beside her desk, waved at him, then flashed a double thumbs-up while grinning madly. Han stared at her until some of her enthusiasm faded and she retreated inside. 

Victoria told him reproachfully that he had upset Joyce, and Han conciliated by agreeing to sign his name to the postcard Victoria was including with the set of knives for Sarah. The postcard had an illustrated map of the lake on it; Victoria had helpfully drawn a small _x_ at the spot where the _Fascination of the Adirondacks_ had gone down.

Then they got into their separate cars and drove away. 

There were, Han thought as he cursed the erratic early morning traffic, worse ways to spend a weekend.


End file.
